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Description
Is there really nothing more to say other than ___?

In silence we still talk,
and I hATe how you never let me literally
faLL asleep.

As pointless as circles are, we are constantly running round and round.

The exception of a resting point is a mistake, a fowl, and a hoax.

I read braile today. On pennies, at a double chaired table green tiled ground pirate mans eyes are impossible to freeze time.  I would have placed the scene in my pocket if it wasn't that simple.

Brains kick the tin can cheap computer desk with a sizzling hard drive Z); to the tenth power because t2/two/too many lines make my eyes water like that,      sometimes not really.

When the skit splits tear apart like nuclei nodding their heads to their 360 degree soul mates, we cut one life into t*o like sinGle twin pops - bannaberry should EXIsT.

So we stumble across vertical brick walls on our way home, with slanted drooling eyes and mouths melting open to see a screaming weasel drowning in its carridge, thanks to mama.  I took my only plastic cup with leftover Hi-C and left it on the concrete blocks of sidewalk chalk math equations to sacrifice, like jesus himself, to be a scavengers' 4 * container.

By this time our hips reach up for something, i dont know why or what, but like how a drowning babydoll would for air. It sprouts a stem and climbs the ladder, to shake our whole acidbubble stomach.  This couldn't be hunger - it's fighting the bacteria that damages others (but they do this on purpose) not to feel like monsters but to look like barbie princesses.  Like how shots work or something along those needle lines...  We give ourselves the diseases to take care of them. To deal, and feel high and mighty in

whatever way.

Description
Is there really nothing more to say other than ___?

In silence we still talk,
and I hATe how you never let me literally
faLL asleep.

As pointless as circles are, we are constantly running round and round.

The exception of a resting point is a mistake, a fowl, and a hoax.

I read braile today. On pennies, at a double chaired table green tiled ground pirate mans eyes are impossible to freeze time.  I would have placed the scene in my pocket if it wasn't that simple.

Brains kick the tin can cheap computer desk with a sizzling hard drive Z); to the tenth power because t2/two/too many lines make my eyes water like that,      sometimes not really.

When the skit splits tear apart like nuclei nodding their heads to their 360 degree soul mates, we cut one life into t*o like sinGle twin pops - bannaberry should EXIsT.

So we stumble across vertical brick walls on our way home, with slanted drooling eyes and mouths melting open to see a screaming weasel drowning in its carridge, thanks to mama.  I took my only plastic cup with leftover Hi-C and left it on the concrete blocks of sidewalk chalk math equations to sacrifice, like jesus himself, to be a scavengers' 4 * container.

By this time our hips reach up for something, i dont know why or what, but like how a drowning babydoll would for air. It sprouts a stem and climbs the ladder, to shake our whole acidbubble stomach.  This couldn't be hunger - it's fighting the bacteria that damages others (but they do this on purpose) not to feel like monsters but to look like barbie princesses.  Like how shots work or something along those needle lines...  We give ourselves the diseases to take care of them. To deal, and feel high and mighty in

whatever way.